


they just howl all night long

by forochel



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-26
Updated: 2008-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set during 'The Dawn Treader'</p>
            </blockquote>





	they just howl all night long

“Trumpkin!”

The young King's voice echoed through the castle, and Trumpkin fairly ran towards the source of the echoes, triangulating on the library. The lad was barely grown into his majority, but was proving to be an unflappable King, so the distressed tone in his voice was, well, distressing. He found young Caspian curled up on a pile of cushions in a corner of the newly-restored library, giving the book in his lap a wary look.

Trumpkin coughed politely and said, “The librarian won't be too happy with you, lad.”

“Oh, it's all right, Trumpkin, she's gone and fallen asleep again.” said Caspian with a fond smile at the elderly centaur who, true to his words, was napping in a dappled pool of sunlight that slanted in through a window. “Anyway, Trumpkin – here, look at the book.”

Trumpkin looked, and – oh, oh _no_ , not _that_ , of all things for the lad to have found; where was that dratted half-dwarf doctor when you actually wanted him?

“Well, Trumpkin?” Caspian asked, and looked curiously at Trumpkin's reddening cheeks.

“Hmmm, well,” Trumpkin uncharacteristically hemmed and hawed, “Well, lad, I don't suppose the Doctor Cornelius ever had a talk with you about -”

Caspian interrupted him impatiently, “Oh honestly, Trumpkin! I know all about _that_ , dear old Cornelius gave me the most embarrassing lesson I have ever had when that Calormene lady was visiting. And this book isn't even as bad as some of the other books in here. It's just – that's Bacchus, isn't it?” Trumpkin allowed that it was. “And... and that's King Edmund, and – it is, isn't it?” Trumpkin grunted non-committally. “Trumpkin – Trumpkin, it's written all over your face. Or at least what I can see of it.”

Trumpkin coloured up and then he muttered, as if he was relating a secret that no one else ought to be hearing, “Well, lad, it's just what they say happened. What the old Narnians say is that they weren't much talked about in the Golden Age, either. It was sort of one of those things that happened and nobody wanted to argue with the Just King over, well, you ought to know – don't you misunderstand, though. Two lads together is passable by all Narnian standards, but – Bacchus is Wild Magic, and no Narnian will feel too easy with that.”

The lad had knit his eyebrows together, and Trumpkin readied himself for an onslaught of Telmar sensibilities – Caspian loved Narnia, but sometimes the breeding just shone right through. And so he was very pleasantly surprised when Caspian asked, “But Trumpkin, did they – well, the thing is really if they were – if there was any love at all.”

Trumpkin chewed on his beard anxiously.

“When all's been said and done, lad, they say that theirs was one of the greatest loves of Narnian history. You've got to think about what forever means to an immortal.”

Caspian's eyes had gone wide. “But Bacchus – that means that – at the feast, when Aslan came and Bacchus and his maenads were dancing, did Ed remember him at all? Or, oh, that's too _horrible_ to think of.”

“To my knowledge, they never managed to meet. Edmund did see Bacchus, but what was it he said? Ah yes, 'That's a chap who could do absolutely anything' .” Trumpkin's eyes were solemn.

“But that's absolutely rotten!” Caspian exclaimed, and Trumpkin wondered if Caspian had mistaken romance novels usually consumed by the womenfolk for the more explicit, though not any less unenlightening picture-books that the men devoured in secret.

“Is it, my lord?” Trumpkin said very vaguely, “Well, if you're quite done here, Drinian wants to see you about something or other – that dratted boat of his will be the death of us all!”

 

iiiii

 

The day the Dawn Treader would leave the harbour of Cair Paravel dawned fine and bright. The sailors were all making last-minute preparations and taking stock when a clear call came from the woods that bordered the Northward curve of the harbour. Everyone stilled, even the boisterous crowd that was gathered on the quay, as Bacchus and his maenads splashed into the water and swam deftly to where the ship was moored, laughing and singing and most probably swallowing pints of water while they were at it. They climbed up the sides of the ship with ropes of vine, and the bare ladies were dancing merrily again when Bacchus clapped his hands together twice, and then they stopped where they were. The crowd started murmuring amongst themselves, but the sailors were frozen in place as Bacchus sauntered towards Caspian.

And Caspian could think of only one thing – the painting he had seen of Bacchus and Edmund standing close together, almost close enough for their noses to touch; Edmund's dark head slightly inclined and Bacchus' chin tilted upwards, the tenderness in Edmund's eyes captured exquisitely while Bacchus' had been shut, his lashes dusting his pale cheek lightly.

Suddenly, the sound of cold metal whipping through the air broke into his consciousness, and he blinked at the sight of Drinian standing before him, his sword out and angled at Bacchus' throat. But Bacchus merely laughed, scornfully, and pushed the sharp edge away from him easily.

“Fool, do you not understand the meaning of _immortal_?”

Caspian dazedly noticed that the beads of blood collected on the edge of Drinian's sword were – disappearing into the air. Then he shook himself violently and pushed Drinian away, snapping at him to take himself somewhere safe before turning back to the god.

He felt a thrill shiver its way down his spine as Bacchus stepped closer to him and took him by the shoulders, wondered if he would be subject to the same enchantments as Edmund, but Bacchus perceived his thoughts, apparently, because he laughed again and tossed his black curls and said to Caspian, “When an immortal says forever, Son of Adam, he is subject to such a vow.”

And as Caspian stood where he was, shocked, Bacchus leapt away with a great shout of “Eun eun hoi hoi!” and he and his maenads took up their dance again, thick earthen pots of spiced wine and pressed fruits appearing where Bacchus' feet and hands touched.

The sailors crowded around, cooing appreciatively at the maenads, until Rynelf muttered to Drinian, “Hoy, this is a good thing he's doing for us, Sir, except that we're going to be near drowned if he keeps this up.”

Bacchus heard, and stopped with a cry, before turning to Rynelf and sweeping an elaborate bow before him. Rynelf tried to slip behind Drinian. “Well then, I am not of sea-faring folk and shall have to trust to your judgement, good sir. Do not, however, drink over much of this spirit, or you shall find your ship canting alarmingly towards the sea!

Now, come with me, young King of Narnia.”

And he led Caspian towards the prow, only stooping to scoop up a bottle of wine along the way. As they stood there, the wind blowing in their eyes and the sunlight glinting off the water, Bacchus smiled, fey and wild, at Caspian and pronounced, “You shall have a fair fortune on this voyage, and I am sorry to miss it.”

And then he reached out and gripped Caspian's chin in one hand, forcing Caspian to look him in the eye.

“You shall speak to no one of what you know. You shall say nothing to him, do you understand?”

Caspian swallowed and approximated an affirmative.

“Good. A blessing for the Dawn Treader, then.” Bacchus smashed the wine bottle apart on the stern, and tossed the remnants of it into the sea.

iiiii

Bacchus' last demand remained in his head - _Say nothing to him_ , the god had said. Could it possibly mean - ? Caspian's excitement grew, and manifested in his making himself a general nuisance to the sailors, until the day they hauled the King and the Queen, and their wet blanket of a Noble Cousin out of the sea.

Drinian had not been overly enthusiastic over the prospect of these rulers from a bygone era being onboard, but they had proven themselves sea-worthy within moments of their meeting; they had found their sea-feet with far less difficulty than the King himself, but that _boy_! At least the King's excitement had been abated, somewhat, but he was now acting in an altogether too suspicious way towards the King Edmund, now – it bore some watching.

The truth of the matter was that Caspian's excitement had not been abated – they'd just been directed into other channels, like finding Lucy a room, trying not to murder Eustace, and solving the mystery of Bacchus and the thirteen-year-old boy who wore the air of a King around him like a defensive cloak. It was odd, really, to see the slighter boy shiver away in front of him while his brain unrelentingly projected the taller, broader man with kind eyes onto Edmund.

It was like a scab that he couldn't stop worrying at, Aslan knows why, so he ordered Rynel to bring the spiced wine that Bacchus had gifted them with on a hunch – and regretted it soon after. He had been observing Edmund closely as the boy sniffed at it and took a sip, before paling and ducking his head to – well, for his hair to swing over his face. Lucy had noticed, Caspian saw, and was about to murmur something to her brother when he looked up suddenly and smiled reassuringly at his little sister, before swigging the entire bowl down in one long pull and then declaring that he could feel the tingling in his toes, by Jove!

Caspian could never understand this 'Jove' exclamation, but the Pevensies' repeated attempts at explaining it to him (the day after his coronation) had fallen through; all he knew now was that this Jove was someone Bacchus was related to, and did that mean that Bacchus was from the world of Ing Land too? Well, he could probably ask Lucy later.

Edmund's amazing recovery put the shadow that had flickered across his face out of Caspian's mind, at least until Eustace had been dryly-and-safely-interred in the cabin and Lucy's curiosity satisfied. It was then that Edmund cornered Caspian in the galleys, where they were pretending to look at the victuals.

“Well, Caspian,” Edmund said evenly, though his eyes were snapping dangerously, “That was a fine wine you served us. I had no idea that the Telmarines knew how to brew such potent wines, and the folk of Galma brew a spirit equal in potence to this, but with none of the ... _character_.”

“Um.” Said Caspian and paused, remembering very suddenly that Edmund had been chief negotiator and war-time interrogator. “Um, thank you. The sailors do find it fortifying.” He said carefully, and reminded himself that they were friends.

“What larks they must have,” Edmund said drily, “But come now, Caspian – don't tell me some of our Narnians know how to brew such wine? Most of them are partial to ale, if my memory serves me. Where did you get this wine from, Caspian? I – my memory slips away from me, I must confess, in this matter.”

Caspian winced, and wondered briefly at the mercy of Aslan.

“I'm sorry, Edmund, but – oh, bother. I suppose I'm doing it all wrong but I've started already so I suppose all I ought to tell you is that I'm foresworn not to tell you and that I'm bound by one whom you have bound in rather a similar way. And don't press me any further, please Edmund – I'm afraid the ship will be wrecked and Drinian will be most put out with me.”

The look of suspicion and consternation on Edmund's face grew as Caspian pleaded with him, and then his faced cleared all of a sudden and he said, “Oh” very quietly before slumping back against the carved dragon head.

“Aslan's Mane!” said Caspian, and eased him down to the ground, where Edmund drew his knees up to his chest and curled into himself, holding himself very, very still. Caspian was just about to kneel next to him when Edmund rasped out, “Some time alone.”

Caspian nodded, even though Edmund couldn't see it, and ran down onto the decks and shouted, “No one is to go up to the prow! King Edmund – King Edmund has it covered.” And wandered to starboard, wondering if he had done the right thing.

 

iiiii

 

The dinner bell pealed sweetly in the breeze, and Edmund came out of reclusion, his eyes shuttered and his face a mask of general good nature. Lucy made especial care to seat herself by his side, but very carefully did not touch him or talk to him, turning instead to the sailors about her, singing and laughing with them. Caspian tried to seek Edmund's eyes out, but Edmund was occupied also with the sailors, telling them of the voyages he had made in his reign over Narnia, regaling them with stories of the bawdy taverns he had slipped into as spymaster of Narnia.

When the waves had turned inky black and the sun had long quenched herself in the cold waters of the far seas, Edmund bid Caspian and Eustace a terse goodnight and curled up in his hammock, turned to face the wall. Caspian let his breathing even out, matching his heartbeats to the regular rhythm of Eustace's snuffles, and was just about to fall asleep when the sound of rustling cloth pulled him back from the brink of dream country.

He felt Edmund glance at him and Eustace, and felt a brief flash of triumph as the celebrated ex-spymaster was clearly taken in by his masterful performance of Sleeping Caspian, and Edmund slipped out of the door.

When what Caspian felt was a respectable amount of time had passed, he slipped onto the floor and padded silently out of the cabin, careful to keep to the shadows. He glanced about the galley, before his eyes fell onto a small figure sitting on the wooden boards between two middle-benches. Edmund was crouched over a bowl – he was staring at the stars reflected in the jelly-like surface of Bacchus' wine, and only looked up when Lucy blotted them out with her shadow.

And then the girl let out a sob that was carried by the faint breeze to where Caspian stood, silent as a statue, in the shadows. She fell to her knees and gently removed the bowl from her brother's grip, placed it gently on a bench behind her, and pulled Edmund into a hug. And then Edmund turned his head into her shoulder and keened softly, the sound rending Caspian's heart; the pain and loss, regret and such _guilt_ that the air – suddenly stifling warm – seemed to pulse with it, and Caspian knew with sudden clarity that he had done this to a mere boy, years younger than him, years too young for the emotions too complex and memories too painful in their coming. He also knew that many hundreds of leagues away, a strange, foreign god was cursing him soundly.

Caspian squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered at himself, before going quietly back to the cabin, silently shutting the door on the scene in the galleys – Lucy rocking her brother gently as he mourned, the stars glimmering sympathetically at the mortal.

 

iiiii

 

Lucy came to him, that morning, as he was taking his turn at the tiller.

“Good morning,” she said mildly.

Caspian gripped the tiller hard and made himself look at her and say, “Morning.”

“Ed's still sleeping,” Lucy said in the same mild tone, “I'm afraid he rather tired himself out last night. Did he wake you up?”

“Um.” Caspian said in reply.

Lucy worried at her bottom lip and cocked her head to the side, looking up at him through her lashes and looking for all the world like an innocent little girl asking her older cousin for a go at the tiller. And so, of course, not so.

“I'm sorry” is what comes out in a rush, the words spilling over his lips like salvation. He's breaking his promise to a god _again_ , he's probably done in the entire crew for this voyage – he can just about imagine the wine crumbling the hull to dust and plunging them all into the seas, but this is like purgatory, telling Lucy of his misdeeds while she looked at him, her blue eyes hard and unyielding.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he says, and then a hand landed on his shoulder. Caspian turned around and there Edmund was, standing behind him and looking – refreshed, if that was the right word.

“Aslan spoke to me,” Edmund said simply.

“But,” Caspian protested, “Are you angry?”

“Angry?” Edmund raised an eyebrow. “No, why would I be? You oughtn't blame yourself for letting the cat out of the bag, you know. If Bacchus had really wanted you to say nothing at all he would have bound you with greater spells than a blessing of wine.” Edmund sighed, “I suspect he isn't very happy with my completely forgetting him, at the feast. Oh, don't look so broken up about it, Caspian. Bacchus doesn't think like mortals, you realise. He can be cruel, but I don't think he ever quite understood -” Edmund stopped abruptly, and then he smiled wryly and said, “Well, I'm hungry. Is there any breakfast to be had?”

Caspian nodded, relieved, and led the way to the galleys.

 

iiiii

 

After they tumble back through the painting and into their room, sprawling breathlessly over each other and the hard floor, Eustace hurriedly picked himself up and said, “I'll – I'll just go make us a bit of hot chocolate, shall I?” completely forgetting about the fact that his parents did not hold with such Old Fashioned Nonsense – it was Coddling, that's what it was.

Edmund pulled Lucy up to her feet and reached out to touch the picture, his finger trembling as he stroked the hull of the Dawn Treader.

“What do you suppose Aunt Alberta will think of our Eustace now, eh?” He said, overly cheerful.

Lucy looked at him worriedly and then flopped down onto her bed and rolled over to bury her face in a pillow.

“Hey – hey, Luce? Lucy, come on now, don't cry, there's a lass.” Edmund sat down next to Lucy's head and carded his fingers through her tangled hair, “It's all right, Luce. If Peter and Susan can do it, so can we, eh?”

Lucy rolled onto her side and snorted, an explosion of laughter and tears, “ _Susan_! Oh, Ed, I don't ever want to – to – to forget, like Susan. I won't, I won't, I _won't_! But – what about you, Ed? It isn't so bad for me, I suppose, but _Ed_. You won't ever -” She stopped, when the fingers in her hair stilled.

Edmund's head was bowed, his face shadowed by his fringe (it really needed a cut, Lucy noted absently) falling over his face.

“No,” he said, and his voice sounded like it had been dragged over rocks, “No, I suppose not. We - _I_ won't be finding Bacchus here, not like Aslan said we'd be finding him.”

“You could,” Lucy said nervously, “You could always go to Greece.”

Edmund stared at her, and then he threw his head back and laughed, laughed until he was sobbing, tears falling hot onto Lucy's arm.

“I don't think it works that way, Luce. It doesn't.”

Lucy frowned, and sat up to hug her brother.

“There's always a chance - ”

“No!” Edmund said, explosively, “There isn't! Bacchus lives in Narnia, Lucy – he isn't like Aslan; he can't come and go freely between worlds. He left this one a long time ago, and there is no chance. Not at all. And that's the end of it.”

“But-” Lucy started to object.

Edmund's face twisted sharply, and he pushed her arms away and got off the bed. He walked over to the door and stood there, back to her, collecting himself. Lucy waited anxiously, until Edmund's breathing evened out and he turned his head back towards her and smiled faintly.

“All right, Luce, let's go see what that idiot Eustace's done with the hot chocolate.”


End file.
